


If the World was Ending

by A_Bisexual_Intellectual



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Bisexual_Intellectual/pseuds/A_Bisexual_Intellectual
Summary: Harry wishes things were different. Draco's not convinced anything will change. But love always finds a way, doesn't it?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 162





	If the World was Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first ficlet so I hope y'all enjoy! I needed a release after almost 20k of my other angsty fic and this is the result! As always, thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! They mean the world to me! And a big thank you to my bestie Ava, who probably won't read this on ao3, but always supports my fanfic writing. And can I just say, writing smuttier scenes as a 17-year-old asexual is certainly an experience, so I hope it's somewhat realistic! If any of y'all reading are a beta smut reader, PLEASE hmu!  
> Will probably translate this into Spanish later. Also, the title is based on the song "if the world was ending" because I felt it paired nicely with this fic!

Draco couldn’t quite believe what he was doing. It’s 2 in the morning and instead of being asleep in his nice warm bed, he’s standing in the freezing eighth year common room wrapped in his fluffiest dressing gown waiting for Harry fucking Potter. Merlin, he’d almost gotten caught sneaking out. Blaise’s bed had been empty, as per usual. Off with his latest affair, Draco’s sure. Greg’s snores were loud enough to shake the foundations of Hogwarts, so he hadn’t much been worried about him catching him. Theo, however, could be a problem. The bloke’s one of the biggest gossip’s in school, and since coming back for eighth year, Draco’s noticed how chummy he is with eighth years in other houses, and if there’s something Draco doesn’t need, it’s Susan fucking Bones gossiping about his late-night escapades. It hadn’t mattered in the end though; Theo had been out like a light. Little more than a lump under his comforter, sleeping with his arms wrapped around the plush dragon Draco knows he keeps stashed under his bed. Simply thinking about being in bed causes Draco’s impatience to rear its ugly head again.

_Focus, Draco._

He’s meant to talk to Potter tonight. They’d arranged to meet by owl four days ago, and never in Draco’s life had a wait been more excruciating. During classes, his focus was everywhere but the learning material, largely due to the fact he and Potter share almost every class aside from Arithmancy and Advanced Potions. Draco feels as if he’s being followed by a black cloud, but instead of causing him a poor mood, he’s constantly on edge. At night, he’ll toss and turn, mind full of green eyes and warm hands. The rare occasion that he catches a few hours of sleep, Draco will wake up, hard as a fucking rock. If this goes on for much longer, he’ll be able to cast a silencing charm wandlessly _and_ wordlessly. Draco shifts, his bare feet freezing against the stone of the castle. The cold of the stone does nothing to quell the rising heat in himself. Draco wraps his arms around himself, trying and failing to focus on anything other than Potter. The effectiveness of this is quickly revealed to be nonexistent as the entire common room seems to be set up in a way that reminds him of Potter. The bottle green throw cushions, the Gryffindor red couch, the abandoned game of wizard’s chess Potter and Weasley played earlier in the night. Draco’s living in a special kind of torment. The Wizengamot couldn’t have come up with a better punishment if they’d tried.

“Malfoy.” Comes a voice from behind him. Draco whips around expecting to see Potter, but there’s no one there.

“Potter?” Draco whispers.

Suddenly, two hands wrap around his waist, hoisting him off the ground. The arms are warm and brown with a dusting of black hair and at the moment making him very _angry_.

“Potter, put me down this instant!” Draco demands, hands going behind his head to grab at Potter’s shoulders. His hands touch bare skin and Draco almost has an aneurysm.

As soon as he’s back on the ground, Draco whips around to face Potter and his eyes almost bulge out of his head.

“Why are you _shirtless_?” Draco whisper-screams, grabbing and throwing a throw pillow at Potter. “Cover up, you nit!”

Potter catches the pillow, damn seeker’s reflexes, with an amused look on his face. His smile grows when he sees Draco’s blush, which is darkening by the second.

“Why,” Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows, “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes!”

“Well, then you probably wouldn’t want me to _hug you,_ right?” He takes a step forward.

Draco takes a step back, “Potter…” He lunges for him, all bare torso and brown skin. Draco attempts to sidestep him but Potter’s too quick, he changes course, tackling Draco. They land on the couch, Draco pressed beneath Potter and his vast expanse of skin.

“ _Oof!_ Potter, get off me!” Draco tries to wriggle free, but Potter only presses him deeper into the couch, his hips pinning his lower body down and his hands holding his wrists in a steel vice above his head.

Green eyes sparkle above him, “No.”

 _“No?”_ Draco asks, incredulous, “What do you mean, no?”

“No.”

“Potter!” Draco bucks his hips in an attempt to knock him off, and unsurprisingly, it backfires spectacularly. Draco closes his eyes and wills his dick to behave. The darkness combined with Potter’s warmth reminds him of the reason they’re meeting at all; it also reminds other parts of him and Draco shoots up so fast, he successfully knocks Potter off him. He falls back against the arm of the couch with a hard exhale.

Harry rubs his arm, “Ow, did you have to be so rough?”

“Oh, let’s not pretend you don’t like it rough.” Draco retorts without thinking.

Potter snorts, shrugging his shoulders, “Aren’t you feisty?”

“Fuck off, Potter, we’re meant to be discussing the infraction from Monday.” Draco snipes, crossing his arms over his chest. Any protective layer he can get against Potter will do him good.

“ _Discuss the infraction?”_ Potter looks like he’s going to laugh, “Malfoy, we didn’t rob Gringotts, we made out in an alcove.”

“Shhh!” Draco leans forward, covering Potter’s mouth, head whipping around for any sign of other people. Finding none, Draco lowers his hands slowly. “You can’t just say it out loud like that, someone could hear!”

“Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’d make out with me.”

“What?” Draco asks, “No, it’d ruin your image.”

Potter’s face contorts, “My image? You’re worried about me?”

Draco leans away, cheeks going pink, “I am not.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Draco doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling.

“Are not.”

“Are to.”

“Are not.”

“Are to!”

“Are not!”

Potter doesn’t say it again, so Draco similarly keeps his own mouth closed. He can be just as civilized as Potter. No need to stoop to childhood antics in the face of victory. Draco sticks his tongue out. Harry snorts a laugh. Then, it’s quiet. They just sit there, arms pressed together on the Gryffindor red couch, Potter still holding the Slytherin green pillow, a warm fire burning in the hearth. It’s almost as if they’re two normal boys, Draco and Harry, rather than the Boy Who Lived Twice and a former Death Eater. It almost makes him sad.

“Malfoy,” Draco turns to Potter at his serious tone, “I’m not worried about my image.”

“Well, one of us has to be then.”

“Why?” Potter asks, eyes locking on Draco’s, “I don’t owe anyone anything. People can hate me all they want, I’ve done my part, I’ve played their games.”

Draco stares at Harry, who suddenly appears forty instead of eighteen.

“You want to be an auror.” Draco says.

“I did.”

“You’ll be minister for magic one day.”

Harry laughs, “I sure hope not.”

“You’re going to get married to Ginevra and have a brood of Potter babies and live happily ever after.”

Harry pauses, hands fidgeting in his lap, “I thought so too.”

“And now?” Draco asks, because he’s a masochist.

“Now, I just want to be who I am and do what I want without being worried of the world’s judgement all the time.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, Potter.”

He sighs, “I wish it were.”

“Okay then,” Draco says, scooting closer to Potter. For warmth, he reasons. “In this make-believe world where you can do anything anytime, what would you do?”

Harry glances over at him, eyes so so green, “I’d be a professor. Here. At Hogwarts.” He says, hand sweeping as if to indicate, yes, _this_ Hogwarts. “And- and I’d date who I want to date.”

“And who would you want to date?” Draco asks, continuing his masochistic streak.

Harry’s eyes lock on his again, they drop to his lips, raise up, “I think you know.”

“Terry Boot?” Draco feigns ignorance.

Because Potter couldn’t possibly be implying what Draco thinks he is. He absolutely could not be saying that he wants to date Draco, be with Draco _publicly._ For all the wizarding and muggle worlds to see. That’s just not something people with any sense of self-preservation would do. Draco is hated, reviled throughout the wizarding community. He’s the Death Eater that escaped Azkaban, the one who didn’t get a harsh enough punishment for the mark on his arm. The Malfoy vaults were seized, the manor torn down, his fancy clothes stripped away and all that was left was him; a scrawny eighteen-year-old pariah who would nothing to offer and nowhere to go after Hogwarts. And sitting across from him is Harry Potter, darling of the wizarding world, someone with everywhere to go and everything to offer and here he was offering that to Draco, the person who least deserved it. Even if Potter wasn’t burned at the stake for choosing Draco, he’d still face judgement every day, backlash, people hating him. Potter can’t handle that. He shouldn’t have to.

“Malfoy,” Potter whispers, leaning in, “Draco, I want you.”

Harry’s lips close over his own, hot and wet. They’re not demanding or overly gentle, just a firm press of warmth, asking for permission to go further. Draco’s not sure he should give it, but with his track record, he knows he’s going to. Leaning in, Draco opens his mouth to Potter’s, and it’s all lost from there. Potter’s an excellent kisser. He knows just which way to tilt his head and to angle his nose. From the one time they kissed previously, he’s remembered that Draco likes it when his hair is pulled, gently as not to cause pain. There’s also this really excellent bit where he sucks Draco’s bottom lip into his mouth and Merlin help him, but he might be getting hard in the middle of the common room.

 _Where did he learn to kiss like this?_ Draco finds himself thinking. He’s torn between wanted to send whoever taught him a fruit basket and strangling them for laying a finger on Harry Potter.

Speaking of Potter, he’s getting increasingly enthusiastic. One warm palm cups his cheek and the other affixed to his hip, pulling him until he’s seated on Potter’s lap. The close proximity makes another, ahem, _problem,_ apparent. The shock of contact is enough to allow Draco to regain his senses, pulling back from Potter with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He flops back on the couch and cool air hits his chest, alerting him that half the buttons on his pajama top have been undone. When did that happen?

“Potter,” Draco puts his hand up to stop the advancing boy, “We need to _talk._ ”

The other boy falls back on his heels, a petulant look crossing his face briefly before flickering into his normal neutral expression. He brings his hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. A deep breath later and they open again, a clear, vibrant emerald.

“Okay.” Potter says, “I’m not sure what you want from me, Malfoy.”

Draco internally cringes at the return to his surname, “I should be saying that of you, Potter. You’re the one with dreams of a world where I can be seen with you without revile.”

“I’ve told you before, I don’t care!” Potter explodes. Draco reaches forward to shush him, but Potter knocks his hands away. “No! I won’t be kept quiet by you anymore! Draco, it’s been months of this…” He struggles to find the right word, “whatever you want to call it, and the moment I kiss you, you freak out! If you didn’t want me like that why…”

He trails off, gaze becoming distant. “Why would you lead me on?” Potter finishes quietly.

Draco opens his mouth, searching for the right words. When they don’t come, he sighs, “Potter,”

“ _Harry_.”

“Harry,” Draco acquiesces, “You- I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just, wanted to know.”

Harry lets out a laugh. A mean, derisive one. “Know what? That the Boy Who Lived is a fucking poof?”

“No! No, of course not!” Draco reaches for Harry’s hand, but he pulls back, cradling the hand to his chest and not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“I wanted to know if you could ever feel the same way about me.”

Harry’s head whips up, “What?”

Draco looks away, shifting in his seat, “I mean, it was always a long shot. You never seemed interested. Even when we starting talking in Defense and Charms I thought to myself, surely he’s just being his usual saviour self and trying to save the poor Death Eater, but then you kept talking to me and then on Monday you kissed me and- _humf!”_

Draco’s rambling is cut off by Harry pressing his lips against his, the warm press is beginning to feel familiar. Draco can feel Harry’s smile against his mouth, and he wants to hold Harry so close that he’ll never leave. Merlin, Draco’s a lovesick fool. If he’s lucky, he’ll wake up in his bed to Greg’s snores and the past few months being Harry Potter’s friend will have all been a dream. Draco’s never been very lucky though. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Harry pulls back, a goofy smile stretched across his face, “Would you come to Hogsmeade with me?”

“ _Now?”_

“Wha- no. Tomorrow, you prat.”

“Ah,” Draco says, embarrassment coursing through him, “Why?”

Harry’s brows scrunch together, “Because I want to take you on a date?”

“A date?” Draco asks, equally confused.

“You didn’t think I only wanted you for your subpar kissing abilities, did you?”

“Subpar- Potter!” Draco lunges at him, grabbing his wrists and wrestling him down against the couch. He doesn’t think Harry’s trying hard to fight back as he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face. “My abilities are not _subpar._ I’ll have you know I’m a _fantastic_ kisser, you happen to be a freak of nature.”

Harry’s smile grows, “Are you saying I’m a good kisser?”

Draco’s eyelids droop, he lowers his face closer to Harry’s, “Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Harry whispers, leaning up and closing the distance.

They stay like that for a bit. Draco on top of Harry in the middle of the common room, warmth radiating from both the fire and each other. Draco’s not sure he’s ever felt this _light._ It’s as if Harry’s kiss lifted every burden from his shoulders at once, leaving behind only him; Draco Malfoy, eighteen-year-old know it all. He and Granger would get on well. After a while, Harry pulls back, smiling softly up at Draco.

“So, Hogsmeade?”

Draco smiles.


End file.
